by Sacchi Green
She remembers how Gracie licked her mouth, and slowly drags her tongue against Gracie’s warm folds. Gracie’s squirming, and Jack can taste her. She’s wet and warm, and Jack knows what she’s looking for, searching up with her tongue, until she finds the place that makes everything a hell of a lot better. And when she finds it, when she presses her tongue hard to it, Gracie’s legs wrap over her shoulders and pull her closer.
Jack licks at her. Quick, then slow, hard, then soft, change it up, make her squirm. She slips her other hand down under Gracie’s thigh, holds her still, but slowly, slowly slides her thumb up. She sucks slow on that little knot, then slides her thumb right into Gracie, smooth as silk, and Gracie’s heels pound at her back.
“Atta girl,” Jack whispers, turning her head to kiss Gracie’s thigh. Her mouth is tiring, so she lets her hands do the work for a second, her thumb sliding slick and slow and her fingertips flickering across the bud.
Gracie’s propped on her elbows now. Her head is back, and she’s flushed pink, her mouth open and wet. Small sounds are getting out, gasps, whimpers.
“Gracie,” Jack murmurs, rubbing her cheek against Gracie’s thigh. She feels like a wanton, and damn if it don’t feel great. She waits till Gracie looks her right in the eye, and she draws out her thumb and pushes in two fingers, and puts her mouth back down.
Gracie stares at her, wide-eyed, panting, and Jack strokes with her fingers and her tongue, until Gracie’s thighs are tight around Jack’s ears, and her whole world turns into warm, soft skin and the taste and smell of Gracie. Gracie’s small cries turn breathless, and she falls back on the desk, limp as a rag.
Jack draws her aching mouth back, and tilts her head to rest against Gracie’s thigh. Her chin is wet, and she licks her lips. All she can taste is Gracie and bourbon.
Gracie strokes her fingers through Jack’s hair. “I’m keeping you, Jack Parker,” she murmurs. “You and that mouth.”
Jack blushes against her thigh. “For sure?”
Gracie pushes herself up on her elbows. “Yes, ma’am.” She reaches down and grabs Jack’s tie, pulling her up. “Come here.” She tastes herself on Jack’s tongue and starts working at the buttons of Jack’s shirt.
Above them, the fan whirls with a lazy rat-a-tat.
EAT AT HOME
Louise Blaydon
“What the hell’s taking you so long, eh? I could have swum to India and picked myself a cuppa in the time you’ve been in here.” Mel’s long arms went easily around Sarah’s waist, the flat of her pelvis pressing up against the curve of Sarah’s backside.
“It’s been five minutes, Mel,” Sarah said. “Had to boil the kettle first, didn’t I?” Her tone was chiding, but Mel’s hands were strong and warm on the spurs of her hip bones through the borrowed jeans (Mel’s), and already, she could feel the heat skipping up her spine, the tingles that caught her up when Mel was close.
“It’s been forever.” Mel sounded disgruntled. She leaned in, and rubbed the tip of her nose against the bolt of Sarah’s jaw. Sarah shivered at the hot breath on her neck, then the featherlight touch of Mel’s lips.
“Mel . . . ” Her hands moved automatically to cover Mel’s, pressing lightly on the backs. She wanted to be strong, the sensible girl she’d been brought up to be, but louise blaydon already she doubted her capacity for it, to maintain her sanity when Mel touched her. What was it about Mel? She only had to look at Sarah to set her pulse pounding, fast in her throat and hard between her legs. One touch, fingers to the inside of Sarah’s wrist or lips to the nape of her neck, and she’d be wet, aching, pelvis tense with the urge to thrust up against something. Mel’s hand would do. Mel’s thigh, Mel’s mouth. Mel made her crazy, turned her into this wanton thing she wanted to be ashamed of, but could not.
Mel didn’t believe in shame.
“Mmm?” A brush of lips to the soft skin behind Sarah’s earlobe, and then another, this time damply open-mouthed. Mel’s thumb traced a line down the spur of Sarah’s hip bone, and Sarah felt it in a hot spasm between her thighs, a gush of wet want that made her gasp.
“Oh,” Sarah said weakly, head lolling slightly in automatic response to Mel’s touches, and Mel laughed, slid a hand down to cup Sarah between her legs, her palm warm and her grip firm.
“You weren’t going to say we can’t,” Mel murmured against the curve of Sarah’s throat, “were you?”
Sarah’s breath hitched, and Mel pushed closer, her middle finger rubbing along the seam at the crotch of Sarah’s jeans. Sarah swallowed, thighs clenching automatically, and Mel made an appreciative sound, pressed a kiss to the nape of Sarah’s neck. “That’s my girl.”
She popped the button one-handed, a deft twist of the wrist and then a slow tug to part the stubborn teeth of the zip. Sarah shivered, and when Mel touched her through her damp knickers, she couldn’t resist a whimper, hips bucking. Where Mel was concerned, can’t was an impossibility. She still couldn’t remember quite how that had happened— she’d managed to reach the age of eighteen without ever looking twice at another woman like that, and even when she’d first met Mel through a friend at one of the riverside nightclubs, she hadn’t exactly realized the draw between them was anything like that. Mel cut an impressive figure, with her long legs and the imperious nose and the way she walked, elbows tucked in and chin lifted like one of the guys in West Side Story. Later, Sarah found out that the imperious expression was more to do with Mel’s shortsightedness than anything else, but it didn’t change the way she responded to Mel’s general aura, her overwhelming refusal to take nonsense from anybody. She had drawn Sarah in without either of them realizing how strong the pull of her orbit had become, until one day in the soft afternoon light of Sarah’s room, magazines spread across their laps, Mel had looked up all of a sudden, put a hand on Sarah’s jaw, and said, “Stop me, babe.”
Her eyes had been soft and dark, all sincerity, and Sarah had felt her throat close up—not with fear, but with shock at how little any part of her wanted to say stop if it meant another second without Mel’s mouth on hers, without Mel as close to her as she could get. Saying yes to this would be taking a step beyond everything Sarah had ever imagined her life would become, but that was always the way with Mel: she made you want to run at cliffs, freefall; made the solid hard ground of what had gone before seem mundane to the point of despair.
Sarah had said nothing, of course, just lifted her chin, and when Mel had kissed her, it had been like nothing on earth, nothing like awkwardly necking with Andy Finn behind the gym in senior year, all tongue and groping hands. Kissing Mel had been like a fantasy of what kissing could be, and after that, there was no going back.
Behind her, now, Mel was shifting, too, hips rocking just slightly against the curve of Sarah’s arse as she pressed with two fingers, circling slowly. Mel always got her like this, just the heat of her body making Sarah feel about to crawl out of her skin. “Come upstairs,” Mel whispered. Another kiss to the back of Sarah’s neck, clinging for a moment, and then a wet touch of tongue that made Sarah convulse with shivers.
“Why?” Sarah managed, though her voice shook and she knew why, how could she not? But there was something about the way Mel laughed at her pretended ignorance, and then the way Mel’s hand twisted deftly until— oh—her fingers crooked down beneath the thin cotton of Sarah’s underwear, delving into her wetness, grazing her bare clit.
“Well,” Mel said, very reasonably, “I could always give you head in the kitchen, but I don’t think your dad would think much of that.”
Sarah’s thighs slackened automatically, letting Mel’s fingers slip a little deeper until the tips pushed shallowly inside of her, touching the sensitive place just at the entrance. Her breath was ragged, and Mel was so warm against her, the palm of Mel’s hand bluntly working Sarah’s clit while her fingers moved idly, and god, these damn tight jeans were a fucking encumbrance.
“Stop,” Sarah managed with an effort, her fingers stilling Mel’s hand at the wrist, and then, �
�Upstairs.”
Mel’s smile was smug at that, predatory, but it only made the urgency flare more hotly in Sarah’s gut as Mel withdrew her hand and moved toward the stairs.
Mel stormed into the bedroom like an invading army seizing possession; Sarah followed obediently, the flutter-rush of her pulse in her throat holding back any protest. The door clicked shut, then the latch. Nobody was due to be home for hours yet, but they never dared take any chances.
“Off,” Mel said, nodding toward Sarah’s opened jeans. Her hands went to the buttons of her own, and Sarah moved immediately, tugging at the denim with inelegant haste. Elegance didn’t seem to matter much when Sarah knew that the quicker she disentangled herself, the quicker she’d have Mel’s warm weight between her thighs, Mel’s clever mouth on her throat, and anyway, there was no ladylike way to get out of jeans, so it only wasted time to try. Jeans kicked aside, Sarah fell back on her elbows on the bed and Mel was on her in an instant in T-shirt and panties, shouldering in between her spread thighs.
Mel ground down against her immediately, braced on her arms over Sarah’s body, hips rolling in a firm, steady motion that pressed their cunts flush together, the cotton of their underwear damp between. Mel’s strong hand cupped the back of Sarah’s head and Sarah let herself be guided, lay down the rest of the way, and opened her mouth to Mel’s, their tongues stroking restlessly over each other.
It was always startling to Sarah that Mel, with her sharp features and sharper tongue, should pay such thorough and enthusiastic attention to kissing. Tough boys didn’t like kissing much, as everyone knew, and in every other way, Mel might have been as tough as any boy Sarah had ever come across. But her kisses . . . Sarah was helpless the moment Mel’s mouth touched hers, the soft, searching touches of Mel’s tongue to the smooth inside of her cheeks and the ridges of her soft palate pounding through her in waves of heat. By the time Mel ducked her head to nuzzle at the underside of Sarah’s jaw, they were rutting against each other in earnest, fingers digging bruise-hard into each other’s hips, the pressure building up fiercely between Sarah’s legs.
“Fuck,” she murmured, the word still strange and adult in her mouth. She threaded her fingers into Mel’s hair, and rolled her hips up hard against Mel’s just for the satisfaction of hearing her breath stutter. She could feel the long muscles clenching and lengthening in Mel’s thighs as she moved, could feel the soft weight of Mel’s breasts against hers, but still there was too much between them. She tugged at the collar of Mel’s T-shirt. “Mel . . . ”
“Yeah.” Mel braced herself on one hand, the other fumbling messily with the back of her shirt, ruching up the fabric at the nape of her neck as she awkwardly hauled it upward. Sarah reached a hand to help, and between them they got it over Mel’s head and off. Then Mel was down again, mouthing at the tendon in Sarah’s throat, and Sarah felt the tingle all the way into her fingertips as she snapped the clasp of Mel’s bra. It slipped forward, and Mel shrugged it aside impatiently, the ripple of her shoulders catlike, drawing Sarah’s hands. Mel was all shoulder blades in this position, and Sarah’s fingers found an obvious hold on her upper back, feeling the shift of muscles as Mel’s kisses dipped lower, finding the hollow of Sarah’s throat, the ridge of her collarbone. By the time Mel set to work on the buttons of her blouse, Sarah’s head was thrown back, her breaths coming short and hard. Mel was quick, spreading the blouse open in a matter of seconds, and Sarah let herself be lifted, let Mel strip her of the blouse and undo the catch of her cumbersome bra. The next thing she knew, Mel had one of her breasts in each hand, pebbled nipples caught between her fingers, and Sarah groaned low in her throat.
Mel half laughed, and moved up over her so their mouths could catch and part again. Sarah felt the drag of Mel’s nipples against her bare skin, and reached between their bodies to squeeze the soft heaviness of her breasts.
“Mmm.” Mel broke away, panting, and Sarah was pleased to note the pinkness of her mouth, kiss-bitten, and the wild heat in her eyes. When she shifted downward, Sarah whined faintly in protest, but then Mel’s mouth was hot and firm around Sarah’s nipple, her knuckles offering a welcome pressure between her legs, and, yes, Sarah wanted that.
She rolled her hips up, rutting against the firm ridges of Mel’s knuckles, but Mel was an unfair and horrible tease and the warm hand kept withdrawing, just slightly, and then dipping again, grinding just too lightly while Mel’s mouth traced the underside of Sarah’s breast, then the center of her breastbone. This was Mel’s way, the withdraw and retreat, teasing until Sarah’s legs were shaking and her back was arching restlessly off the bed, but Mel looked restless enough herself, and Sarah wasn’t much in the mood for waiting.
“Mel, come on.” The muscles in Mel’s shoulders flexed under her palms, and then the hot amber gaze darted up toward her, half laughing.
“You pushin’ me around, Sarah?”
Sarah lifted her chin defiantly. She could feel Mel’s breath warm in the dip of her navel now, setting goose pimples rising on her thighs, and she was so close to where Sarah wanted her; so close.
And yet not close enough. “Yes,” Sarah said, cupping a hand around the back of Mel’s skull and canting her hips upward. “Get to it.”
The ragged breath Mel drew through her teeth was more than reward enough for Sarah’s bluntness; she didn’t miss the way Mel’s eyes closed momentarily as she ducked her head and pressed the flat of her cheek hard against the place where Sarah’s dampness had seeped through the cotton of her underwear. It was a strange sort of pressure, this; at once diffuse and direct. Sarah groaned, and Mel groaned too, turned her face, mouth open. Sarah felt herself clench, cunt fluttering emptily around nothing at the sensation of Mel’s warm breath against her, and then Mel’s tongue, its heat blunted by a layer of cotton.
“Oh Jesus,” Sarah managed, clutching at Mel’s hair, and Mel must have been gone, because there was no smart-arse remark in return, just a sudden coolness as Mel lifted her face and hooked her fingers in the waistband of Sarah’s panties.
The coolness was only momentary. A heartbeat later, Mel was settled between Sarah’s legs again, all long black and soft hair fallen forward to skim Sarah’s thighs. Her hands slipped underneath, strong and certain, lifting, and then her mouth slid hot and open between Sarah’s parted thighs in the sweetest kind of kiss. Sarah whimpered, pelvis tilting upward automatically, and Mel moved with it easily, the flat of her tongue working in broad strokes through wet heat until it found the source, and dipped inside.
When she touched herself, Sarah didn’t often bother with anything other than firm, easy strokes to the clit. But with Mel—when Mel worked her up and teased her into submission like this—there was something about it that was everything Sarah wanted, everything she needed. Mel’s tongue, at first, fucking shallowly, finding some strange secret place just inside Sarah’s body that seemed to light her up everywhere, and then Mel’s fingers, crooking inward when her tongue retreated, filling up everything that felt like an aching, empty space. Sarah was shivering, now, the muscles fluttering in her thighs, but Mel was nosing at her clit and flickering her tongue against it and they were both groaning, Mel’s hips working helplessly down against the mattress as Sarah ground up against her face.
“Oh, fuck, oh Christ, oh fuck—”
Mel was proud of that, of teaching little Sarah to swear; but Sarah had never quite known the value of the words until Mel had fucked her hard enough to shake them out of her. Now, like this, Sarah was shaking, Mel’s clever fingers slicking in and out of her, her mouth finding purchase on Sarah’s clit and sucking, sucking, sucking. Mel always held off with that until Sarah was close like this, until her hips were jerking and her belly was spasming and her thighs were lifting shakily around Mel’s shoulders; until she was arching her back and keening and her cunt clutching at Mel’s fingers and oh fuck oh fuck Mel’s mouth, finding her right where everything was building, right where she needed—
It burst up and out of her, as always
, like a fucking exorcism. Between her thighs, Mel was shivering too, moaning and mouthing at her until the spasm passed and Sarah could fall onto her back again, part her legs. Mel withdrew her hand slowly, looking dazed, and Sarah felt a snarled pulse of gratitude and muted want.
“Jesus Christ.” Mel’s voice was strained, almost reverent; her fingers were slick and shimmered in the afternoon light as Mel put them to her mouth, withdrew them clean. Sarah groaned.
“Gimme a second.”
“Second for what?” Mel threw herself onto the bed like a skein of silk, all long and elegant and gorgeous. Her thighs parted easily and without shame, her fingers slipping between.
Sarah’s pulse was still thundering like a steam train, but she couldn’t resist. “Oh, give over.” She pulled herself up onto her elbow, propped over Mel, and her left hand tracked its way down Mel’s flat belly, lower. Mel smiled slowly up at her, and withdrew her hand.
“Oh, I see,” she said softly. “All yours.”
“It better be,” Sarah said.
Mel opened her mouth as if to respond, but Sarah was faster, her mouth catching at Mel’s as her fingers slid into her wetness, finding her easily, circling. Mel groaned against Sarah’s lips, arched her back, and god, yes, she must have been touching herself already because Sarah could already tell that she was close. That thought sent a wayward flush of heat through Sarah’s stomach and her fingers stuttered, then picked up pace, her tongue rubbing hotly against Mel’s. Mel shivered, seized up, as she always did just before, and that was Sarah’s cue to keep going, to keep on kissing Mel’s slack breathless mouth and rubbing at her clit until Mel’s thighs flew up and clamped around Sarah’s hand, stilling it abruptly as she came.
Afterward, Mel always looked curiously innocent, something sleepy and childlike about her eyes. Probably, it was partly shortsightedness, but Sarah felt fond, still, looking up and seeing that. Mel’s smile was fond, too, and the arm she reached out shakily for Sarah.